


Ghost Town

by DementedPixie



Series: Demented Pixie's Pros Fic [26]
Category: The Professionals (TV 1977)
Genre: 2011 London Riots, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-10
Updated: 2020-02-10
Packaged: 2021-02-27 20:22:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,548
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22651702
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DementedPixie/pseuds/DementedPixie
Summary: This story is not meant as a political statement nor does it portray events (real or CI5) with complete accuracy, but I was in Camden the day the 2011 London Riots started and I wanted to interpret my feelings and experiences of the week that followed. No offence is intended.PLEASE DO NOT RE-POST THIS STORY ON ANY OTHER PLATFORM.
Series: Demented Pixie's Pros Fic [26]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1264832
Comments: 2
Kudos: 8





	Ghost Town

**Author's Note:**

> My name is Demented Pixie and I’m a Pros fan, but that hasn’t always been my name. If you knew me as In Love With Both and you’re a friend, then you’ll already know why I left the fandom some years back. But, hey, a girl can change her mind, and I have therefore decided to re-share my Professionals fanfiction on this amazing Archive – no changes, no improvements, no alterations. I’ll be posting them just as they were written. No comments, no trolls, and no betas. Just me and my stories. I’m sharing them so that they can take their place in the archive, but I’m also sharing them for the Pros generation, for those future generations yet to discover Bodie and Doyle, and for Sandra, who has never ceased waving pompoms for all Pros fanfiction writers.  
> The following story was written by me in 2011.

Ghost Town  
By ILWB

Bodie stretched his aching shoulders as he stirred his tea, knowing without doubt that he had never felt so exhausted in his entire life. He looked around the so called ‘VIP Lounge’ at CI5 Headquarters, amazed at how quickly it had been turned into an army barracks. They’d managed to squeeze eight narrow camp beds into the room and every single one was full. He glanced up at the clock on the wall – 4am and they’d only just got in. And if he knew Cowley, they’d be back out on the streets again in a few short hours. 

He knew he really ought to get some sleep himself, but somehow he couldn’t switch off. He watched as Doyle rolled over in his bunk, the blanket half falling onto the floor behind him. Allowing himself a small smile he picked his way carefully between the beds and picked the blanket up, draping it back over his sleeping partner. As he did so the back of his neck prickled in warning and he looked up to see his actions had not gone unobserved. Murphy looked across at him with haunted, sad eyes, eyelashes spiked with the tears he had obviously been trying to hide. Bodie moved towards him and perched on the edge of his bunk. 

“Here,” he said, holding out the half drunk cup of tea. “It’s got three sugars,” he added. 

Murphy took the cup and sipped at it, cringing before handing it back. “So it has,” he agreed. “Why?”

“Good for shock, isn’t it?” 

“Yeah.” Murphy settled back down again, pulling his blanket up around his neck. “Shock.”

Bodie gave him a soulful look, knowing in his heart what Murphy was going through. “It’ll be okay, mate,” he said, softly, then corrected himself. “He’ll be okay.” Being a partner could be the most fantastic, amazing thing, but it could also cause you the most pain you have ever felt. And all the pain in the world was now written across Murphy’s face as his worry for his partner was exposed for all to see. 

Squeezing Murphy’s shoulder as the man closed his eyes, Bodie got back up and moved carefully around the beds to the sofa, where he made himself as comfortable as possible. He ran a hand through his hair and rubbed across his face, thinking back over the last three days. Three terrible days...

********

It had started simply enough and, like most things, it had started with a combination of confusion and misunderstanding. A man was seen with a loaded gun and, after a confrontation, he was shot dead by armed Police. Rumours quickly spread that he hadn’t been armed at all. Then the story broke that a Policeman had been shot, the details quickly changing to a Policeman having a miraculous escape when a bullet was found lodged in his radio. But regardless of all this, the armed man was indeed dead and there were inevitably questions to be answered. Then came the protests, a vigil, a march and a fierce demand for information. 

And then the riot started. 

How that riot developed became a thing of shame for the entire country, because what had begun as a legitimate protest quickly turned into an excuse for organised crime to take control. People, ordinary men, women and especially youths and children, saw it as an opportunity to loot shops and businesses, to steal property and goods. The country saw the biggest scenes of civil unrest in years. The Police were overwhelmed and the rioters were clever. They knew how to storm an area, take what they wanted and then disperse quickly in fractured groups which in turn meant the Police were also working in small groups, groups who could then be attacked. And without any apparent fear and with their faces hidden, the rioters did just that - they attacked the Police. 

The public looked on in shock and horror as the media broadcast scenes of the Police, severely outnumbered, retreating along burning streets as missiles were thrown at them. The TV showed houses and businesses being looted then burned to the ground, people and Police alike running for their lives, jumping from burning buildings as the chaos descended. 

The public outcry came for water cannons, rubber bullets and intervention by the Army. But as time went by with no sign of any of those things being sanctioned by the Government, the Police still struggled to regain order. Huge numbers were drafted in from other forces and the Capital gradually turned into a war zone. 

Beneath all the rioting was an undercurrent of sinister and well planned organised crime. Hidden groups appeared to be orchestrating the looting and the Police, fully occupied with trying to restore order, simply didn’t have the resources to stop them. 

So, on the second day, the Government asked CI5 for help. Their remit had been to identify and isolate the organisers, by any means necessary. 

Every member of CI5 was called in, whether on duty or not, sick leave and annual leave all cancelled. They used everything at their disposal, informers, street knowledge, years of research and undercover work. The girls in the typing pool created an incident room where every scrap of information was recorded and displayed on pin boards for all to read and digest. 

Then, on the third day of the riots and the second day of CI5’s direct involvement, the war truly began, with disastrous events taking place that would stay with certain members of Cowley’s team for the rest of their lives. 

********

All their intelligence had brought them to converge on one derelict warehouse in Tottenham, North London, with the gang they believed to have been orchestrating the looting shut up inside. 

The fires were intense and spreading fast. The sky burned red and black around them as Cowley tried to take control, nearby buildings crumbling under the powerful heat of the flames. He held up the loud hailer and tried his appeal once again. “You are surrounded,” he shouted, his voice echoing into the distance. “Come out with your hands up. Put an end to this!”

In reply a petrol bomb was thrown in their direction, landing almost directly on target as it exploded only a few feet away from the armoured van that Cowley was crouched behind. Bodie ran to his side, realising the bullet proof vests they were all wearing wouldn’t do any of them much good if they got blown up. “All right, sir?” he asked, helping the CI5 controller to his feet. 

“Aye!” replied Cowley, dusting himself down. 

“Can I make a suggestion, sir?” said Bodie. 

“You can suggest what you like,” said Cowley, looking up at the imposing building. “I want them out of there. My God, the whole country wants them. And I need them alive!”

“Tear gas, sir,” said Bodie, the expression on his face sincere. A van pulled up and the remaining members of CI5 joined them, Murphy, Tommy and Benny included. They gathered around Cowley for him to direct them on the next phase of action. 

At that moment Doyle arrived from the rear of the warehouse where he had been trying to evaluate the opposition’s fire power. “Sir, we’ve got trouble,” he reported, slightly breathless.

“What now?” asked Cowley. 

“They’ve set fire to the streets of houses behind the warehouse.”

As the words left his lips he was pushed back against the side of the armoured vehicle by Tommy as he ran out into the open, oblivious to the danger. 

“Shit!” Murphy pulled out his gun. “Tommy’s Mum lives back there!” he shouted before chasing off after his partner. 

“My God,” said Cowley, a look of horror on his face. “Help them!” Bodie and Doyle ran after them, with Cowley’s words following them as he shouted. “I’ll call in for reinforcements!“

********

Wars have victims, we all know that. But it’s a different feeling entirely when it’s happening where you live, to your neighbourhood, to the place and people you love. Already deeply affected by the damage that had been done to the City they all loved and knew so well, CI5 were now suddenly dealing with something deeply personal. Tommy’s wife and child had gone to stay with his elderly Mother because she was frightened by the rioting, and all three were now trapped in the burning terrace house. 

Murphy used every inch of his height advantage to catch up with Tommy as he ran hell for leather towards the row of houses, tackling his partner to the floor before he could do anything stupid. 

“Get off me!” shouted Tommy, as he wrestled with Murphy in the road. Bodie and Doyle arrived and tried to pull the two men apart, but as soon as Tommy was free of Murphy’s hold he side stepped Doyle and rushed through the front door into the house, ignoring the flames that were already licking the walls of the hallway. 

Without another word, Bodie, Doyle and Murphy followed him, none of them willing to be the one left behind on the pavement, wondering what was going on inside. 

********

Unaware of the drama unfolding only a few hundred yards away, Cowley rallied his men to a final push. Police reinforcements had brought a supply of CS gas and, determined to get the gang out of the warehouse without loss of life, Cowley had eagerly sanctioned its use. Matheson and King led the raid with the rest of CI5 in support, working their way close enough to the building to be able to smash windows before hurling the gas canisters inside. Without gas masks the only thing left for them to do was wait the tense few minutes while the gas dispersed and cleared, hoping all the time that their prey had been caught in the trap. 

Then, with terrible purpose, they moved in.

********

His nose and mouth buried in the crook of his arm, Bodie searched the downstairs of the property, keeping close to Doyle every step. Years of training and experience had taught them not to split up in such situations, so when Murphy had leaped up the stairs in pursuit of Tommy, the other two partners had stuck close together while conducting the search of the ground floor. When they kicked through the kitchen door and found the room full of smoke, Bodie was on the verge of turning back - common sense had to prevail at some stage and pretty soon this whole house was going to be a death trap. Then Doyle dropped to his knees and Bodie squinted through the smoke to try to see what he was doing. 

When he realised that all Doyle been able to rescue was a very stiff black cat he grabbed at his shoulder and started to push him back through the lounge and out of the front door.  
Together, they collapsed on the pavement, both coughing violently. Doyle put the cat on the floor and started to check it over for life signs, but it was most definitely dead and looked like it had been for some time. Looking up at his partner, Doyle was about to say something when a shout came from inside the house. Without a moment’s hesitation, Doyle ran back in. 

“Ray!” Bodie shouted, as he ran after him. “No, Ray! Will you fucking well listen to me for once!” 

Bodie knew there would be no survivors in the house. He’d seen this kind of thing before in Belfast, with smoke being an even bigger killer than fire. But there was one thing he was even more sure of – where Ray Doyle went, he followed. He ran up the stairs two at a time, trying to ignore the burning banister and the way the wallpaper was catching light with every step he took. 

They found Murphy on the landing, apparently trying to drag Tommy towards the top of the stairs. 

“They’re dead!” screamed Murphy, as flames devoured the closed bedroom door behind him. 

Tommy was fighting him, desperately trying to claw his way back into the room. Doyle tried to help Murphy by grabbing hold of Tommy’s arm and pulling at him, but he was viciously pushed away. Bodie couldn’t prevent what happened next, as the inertia of Tommy’s push caused Doyle to crash back against the wall. Doyle put out a foot to try to save himself but the top step gave way and he fell headlong down the stairs. Realising their days were numbered Bodie took one almighty swing and punched Tommy in the face with all the force he possessed, taking a full half a second to feel smug when Tommy instantly collapsed to the floor unconscious. Then, together with Murphy, he carried the slumped form down the stairs, scooping up Doyle on route, the four men falling out onto the pavement just as the entire first floor of the house collapsed behind them. 

********

Relative calm descended on the area as the members of CI5 gathered in the clearing in front of the warehouse, looking every bit like soldiers regrouping after a battle. Lucas had his hand on McCabe’s shoulder, being led along by his partner because he couldn’t see through the blood that was obscuring his vision as it seeped from a wound on his forehead. Bodie had his arm around Doyle, holding him up as he hobbled along, his ankle twisted from the fall down the stairs. And Murphy had tears pouring down his face that made tracks in the soot, his arms firmly around his partner as he tried to hold him steady, to keep him together. 

And Tommy... Tommy looked as though he had died himself in that house fire. His face white as a sheet he stared straight ahead like a zombie, no words left his lips, no emotion showed in his eyes. The other members of the team, Anson, Stuart, Benny, Fraser, Matheson, Jax, King, Lake and Williams, gathered around them, exhausted, filthy, battered and bloodied. A band of brothers that would take on all comers, who would defend and support each other to the end. 

Cowley looked across at them from where he was talking to several high level Police officers, aware that the gang they had all fought so hard to capture were being loaded into the back of the armoured wagons. Breaking off the conversation he walked across to where his men were gathered, taking stock of their injuries. Now wasn’t the time for congratulations, he could see that in their eyes. 

“Lucas,” he said, “get over to the ambulance, see to that cut. The rest of you get back to HQ, get some sleep. We’ll debrief in the morning.”

As the men started to file slowly past him he caught hold of Tommy’s arm, halting him in his tracks. Tommy stared straight ahead, apparently unaware that he had been stopped. 

“Sir,” said Murphy, still with his arm wrapped protectively around Tommy’s shoulders. “Not now, sir.”

Cowley looked them both over, seeing at once how desolate Murphy was, and how damaged Tommy appeared. Not now, maybe not ever, he thought to himself, saddened beyond belief. That peoples actions should come to this, cause so much heartbreak, so much appalling death and destruction. 

He would never come to terms with it.


End file.
